


Moving Closer to the Heart of the Sun

by katane (read2day)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/read2day/pseuds/katane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>C/7 didn't make sense; so I've found a way to make some sense of it (written shortly after Endgame aired)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Closer to the Heart of the Sun

Another picnic, this time in Golden Gate Park: did that mean they were back to a third date, or was this another stage in the whole process that he didn't understand? Dating by numbers - well, it was a novel approach. One that had lost any amusement value rather rapidly. Chakotay thought perhaps that the entire relationship could be construed that way, if indeed there had ever been any amusement value to it. 'Bemusement' value it certainly had, though.

Bemusement. That rather summed up the state of his mind these days; the events of the last few weeks still shook him every time he stopped to think about it. From moment to moment he wondered exactly when he had lost so much control over the quotidian events of his life; from a stable, if somewhat precarious, life in the Delta Quadrant to the slingshot that reverberated even now. They were home, back in the Alpha Quadrant. Being debriefed by StarFleet, getting used to a planet beneath their feet, and re-acquainting themselves with a humdrum existence that didn't require a constant mental red alert for disruption from yet another unknown species.

Somewhere along the way, he’d also found himself in a relationship not of his own devising.

Chakotay lay back against the grass; it felt cool against his forearms where the sleeves had been rolled up. The sun burnt steadily overhead, a late September day of an Indian summer. He wondered idly where the expression had come from, and then dismissed it. If he closed his eyes, maybe it would all go away; but he'd tried that before.

"Chakotay, are you listening to me?" He blinked and realised he'd missed a fair amount of what Seven had been saying - the last thing he'd heard before he tuned her out had been something to do with going to Vulcan. He sat up.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep for a moment," he replied. Not exactly the truth but maybe it would offend her ... no such luck. She simply took the statement at face value and repeated her request for him to go to Vulcan with her.

"I don't think I can manage it this time; I need to be here to sort out what I'm going to do going forwards." A trip to Vulcan; not a chance. It wasn't entirely untrue, he was negotiating a research position with the University of Berkeley's Museum of Palaeontology. What he left unspoken was that the position had been agreed, all that was left was to decide when he started.

It was difficult; prevarications and half-truths didn't come easily to him on a personal level, for all that he hid himself behind apparent openness in everyday life. Drawing a veil over his emotions wasn't the same as disguising his actions.

Chakotay looked over at Seven; she was looking over to the Palace of Fine Arts, apparently scrutinising the architecture. He wondered what she saw; she was probably tell him soon enough. She was his complete opposite - where he gave little away at a fundamental level, she wasted little time in letting people know what she thought. Chakotay wondered whether she would ever learn that a little mystery was far more interesting than an open book.

"The buildings are not as old as they appear to be." Her analysis was, as usual, quite correct.

Chakotay sighed and answered as she turned to look at him. "That's right; they're early twentieth century, made to look like Roman ruins. They were built as an exhibit for a World's Fair and then left in place when the exhibit ended."

"I don't understand this apparent desire to make things seem older than they are."

Chakotay shrugged; he wasn't in a frame of mind to discuss nostalgia with her. Their time together since returning to the Alpha Quadrant sometimes felt like an unending lecture; he was being unfair, but irritation made him exaggerate.

The buildings were a soft gold in the afternoon sunlight, a gold intensified by the deep blue of the sky above them - at this moment, they were unbelievably beautiful and Chakotay wanted nothing more than to be able to sit in the unquiet silence of a Sunday afternoon in San Francisco and simply absorb the scene. For a while, his wish was realised - Seven was quiet, and the soft sounds of the city soothed him as he forced all conscious thought from his mind. All that existed was the moment, and himself in it.

Reality broke in soon enough, as Seven started to gather the detritus of their meal. "I will see you later, I need to attend a medical examination," she said as she gathered the plates.

The statement snapped something inside Chakotay, but he kept his voice steady. "I'll have to take a rain check on that, I have other plans." Seven lifted her head enquiringly, but Chakotay looked away.

"Very well. I will call you later, then."

Chakotay nodded; they stood, and Chakotay brushed the grass from his trousers as he forced himself back into the here and now. Seven leaned in for a kiss, which he met as expected. "I'm going to walk back", he said, knowing she needed to take the transport. He needed time to himself, an increasing requirement in these odd days of readjustment. With a wave goodbye, Seven walked away to a vehicle at the kerbside.

Chakotay exhaled with the relief of being alone. He was being unfair, he knew he was being unfair - most of his irritation was with himself, for allowing himself to have been placed in this position. But here he was, and extricating himself seemed to become more difficult with each passing day. Intellectually, he knew exactly what he should do but knowing and doing ... the gulf between them sometimes seemed insurmountable.

He started to walk, cutting across the lawns. His head lowered, he watched the grass bend and recover with each step that he took. Resilience; a resilience he wanted to take for granted in others but couldn't. The grass gave way to the hard sidewalk, hot from the sun and warm through the thin soles of his shoes; he crossed the road, heading vaguely eastwards into the city.

The houses around him were an eclectic mix of styles spanning five hundred years and countless imaginations; candyfloss confections and Mission statements, the post neo-Modernism of two hundred years ago and the Gothic re-revival that seemed to be the current fashion. Chakotay allowed his mind to wander amongst the follies and crenellations, wondering at the people who built these and those who lived in them now.

Anything to distance his mind from his own situation.

He found himself climbing a hill after a short while, following a path to a destination he hadn’t consciously chosen; nonetheless, possibly the only path he really could take. A door, similar to others on the street, stepped up from the steep gradient of the hill. Chakotay stood for a moment, looking at the house and keeping the questions from his mind. Then, before the questions could crowd back in and make him turn away, he reached over and pressed an old-fashioned buzzer requesting entry. Somewhere in the house a bell rang and, moments later, he heard steps.

The heavy wooden door swung open, pulled back. Kathryn looked out, and smiled with what he hoped was delight, although her features were quickly schooled into a less unrestrained smile.

“Chakotay – did you … I didn’t forget a meeting?” she asked.

“No, I was in the neighbourhood. I remembered you mentioned that you’d moved out of quarters and I thought – well, I thought I’d come and see you. We haven’t really had a chance to talk since we got back, maybe even before then.” He was still standing on the steps, hoping for an invitation to enter.

“Come in, please,” said Kathryn suddenly, as they stood looking at each other. He entered; the cool darkness of the house was a balm after the heat and light outside. The decoration was quietly elegant, a mixture of tones – cream and white, tan leather and soft brickwork. It suited her, he thought, wondering whether it was she had decorated it or whether the house was as she had bought it. The pictures on the walls were clearly hers, though – he recognised a few of them from Voyager.

“Do you want to come and sit outside?” The question interrupted his distraction, pulling him away from a contemplation of her tastes. “I’ve got some iced tea, I was planning a lazy afternoon doing nothing. Want to join me?” Kathryn looked at him sideways, and Chakotay recalled how many times over the last six weeks he’d made his excuses when she asked him to join her. Was she expecting him to do the same again?

“I’d love that,” he answered honestly, and smiled at the grin on her face.

“Good.”

She led the way to the back of the house, picking up an extra glass as they passed through a kitchen that gleamed white and metal with an old-fashioned coffee machine sitting in solitary splendour on the countertop. The coffee machine was undoubtedly Kathryn’s, but Chakotay suspected that the rest of the kitchen had been designed long before she bought the place. The replicator tucked discretely into a corner was far more her style than the range in the island in the centre of the room.

Outside was a small revelation: a compact garden of curves and colour. Formal flowerbeds edged with tiny hedges, roses spilling across the whitewashed walls and a fountain that chuckled quietly in the afternoon haze of the sun warmed city. The covered veranda that ran the length of the house provided all the shade needed, without sacrificing the sight, sound and scents of the garden.

Kathryn motioned him to a chair on the veranda, taking the twin next to it. Chakotay sat down, adjusting comfortably, as Kathryn poured a couple of glasses of tea.

“This is perfect,” he said on an exhaled sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. They sat for a while, letting the afternoon wash over them without any need for conversation. Chakotay felt a peace that had eluded him for weeks and tried to grasp it; contentment was too precious to allow it to slip away. A perfect time: a moment to capture and treasure against the days when nothing seemed to work, and a way to remind himself to reach for the calm centre within himself. Too often now he found himself chasing the insubstantial, tossed from one thing to another, trying to hang on rather than letting go and waiting for events come full circle around him.

Kathryn refilled their glasses. The ice chattered against the lip of the jug, bringing Chakotay back to the moment at hand. Kathryn seemed drawn back to the present as well, turning to him. “So what are you doing now? Taking some leave?” she asked.

“For a short while, but I’ve got a research position at UCMP,” he said. Kathryn leaned forward, her eyes alight.

“Berkeley? That’s wonderful, it's perfect for you – what area are you going to be working in?” she asked eagerly.

Chakotay laughed, a harsh sound; Kathryn sat back, obviously bemused by his response. One sentence … one short sentence and suddenly he knew he couldn’t carry on. He had to find a way out.

“I can’t do this. I really can’t do this.” Kathryn looked still more confused. “Do you have any idea, any idea at all how much this conversation means to me?”

The question was undoubtedly rhetorical, and Kathryn didn’t interrupt him as he carried on. “I told Seven I was planning to apply, and she just said ‘an excellent institution’. The gap between knowledge and understanding – you understand what this means to me. All she has is empirical knowledge. A distinction without a difference, perhaps, but a distinction nonetheless.

I can’t continue this farce any longer. I’ve tried, god help me, I’ve tried. It’s my damn fault, this entire mess, and the last thing I wanted was to hurt her but there are only so many hoops I can jump through, only so many explanations I can give. I’ve tried to force myself into emotions I just don’t feel. There’s just nothing there.”

“Chakotay, I’m not sure you’re making any sense,” Kathryn said gently. He blinked at her, having almost forgotten that he was actually talking to someone and not just venting to himself. “I think I know what you’re talking about, but I’d rather not guess wrong,” she went on. “Do you want to talk about it?” The question was a little hesitant, as though she was afraid of opening something up that shouldn’t see the light of day.

“I can’t face Seven anymore.” Blunt, and to the point. Why couldn’t he be the same with Seven?

"God only knows I don't know why we're dating. I suppose - well, you see, she asked and ..."

Chakotay buried his face in his hands. He felt, abstractedly, as though he made a picture of dejection. If he didn't feel quite so miserable, he would laugh at himself - but, as it was, laughter was more than he could summon at this point. He looked up, glancing at Kathryn. She sipped at her tea, patiently waiting for him to continue. There was an odd tension about her, which Chakotay supposed wasn't unreasonable.

"It was a surprise; not something I'd ever imagined. I really hadn't thought of her that way - I mean, I admired the scenery the same way most people did, but she's half my age with a tenth of my experience. In all senses of the word. So ... it was a surprise; which I suppose explains the fact that I agreed to the date before I'd had a chance to think about it. If I did agree ... I don't remember agreeing, but then I suppose I didn't disagree either. Engaging mouth before brain."

\- Not for the first time -

The suggestion hovered unspoken between them, but neither seemed inclined to voice it.

"And the second ... and third dates?" Kathryn asked, her voice soft and barely audible above the hum of the city. Chakotay wondered at the tone; did he dare to believe she was affected by this, or did she just not want to break the sense of the confessional that this conversation had taken on? Still, he had to answer.

"I ... I didn't know how to let her down. I still don't, really. I hear myself saying everything that I shouldn't, out of politeness - I can't just sit there and say nothing. I've tried keeping the subjects neutral and, well, trying to bore her, I suppose. If she would only back off ... but even then, she's done that and I found myself asking her to reconsider. I'm going mad."

"No, no you're not. You're just rather over-sensitive to other people's feelings, Chakotay - I'll bet she didn't seem happy about it when she was backing off?" Chakotay shook his head. "So you tried to make her feel better? It's a reflex for you; think about it."

"I ... yes, I suppose you're right. And she's never dated before - I know that something went on in Unimatrix Zero, but that seems different. I think - and anyway, it's ... oh god, this is such a mess. Kathryn, please, you know her better than anyone else. How do I tell her I'm not interested, how do I stop this before it goes any further?"

Kathryn sat back in her chair, looking at Chakotay. She seemed to be considering options, weighing her response to his plea. He looked away, somewhat ashamed to be having to ask her for assistance. He was ... what was he now, 45 years old? Something like that. Anyway, too old to be asking for help in ending a relationship - although this could hardly be called a relationship.

They had no conversation - all they discussed on dates was the Delta Quadrant, the crew, the banal; and a future he wanted no part of. Chakotay cringed inwardly as he recalled his comment about wanting to be within transporter range of her - what had possessed him to say such a thing? Charm was one thing, but surely not at the expense of his own sanity.

She had nothing that he wanted from a relationship; no common ground - the things that interested him, she obviously deemed irrelevant even as she clearly tried to sound interested. But she had nothing to contribute ... he preferred to be challenged, to really interact with a partner than to have to deal with this blank interest.

"I'd advise you just to tell her. Point blank. Seven does appreciate the straight-forward route, you should know that." Kathryn's words made more sense than he wanted them to. Seven certainly appreciated directness; he recalled that kiss that she'd startled him with when she beamed into his quarters. "Better to get it out of the way" she'd said.

"I suppose so. Gods, this is going to be difficult."

"Can I just ask ..." Kathryn hesitated, then spoke again. Chakotay could have sworn she sounded nervous. "Why don't you want to date her? The Admiral .. the Admiral said that in her timeline the two of you married. I assumed you would want that."

"We married?" Chakotay wondered whether he sounded as incredulous as he felt. Kathryn just nodded. "I ... I have no idea. I can only assume I never got up the courage to end it - I mean, it's hard enough now. What drove me here today was her comments about what she wants to do now that the de-briefing is almost over. She's trying to get me to go to Vulcan with her and I couldn't ..." Chakotay rubbed his face with his hands. "I couldn't face the thought of weeks with only Seven for company. Maybe I never had to deal with that sort of impetus in the other timeline and just drifted along, trying not to hurt her and getting hurt in the process."

"The Admiral said you were devastated by Seven's death; she died in your arms."

Chakotay wondered what Kathryn was trying to do, raising these comments from a timeline that would now never happen. Provoke him? She seemed uncomfortable saying them, as though probing a sore tooth. It seemed to much to hope for that she had been affected by the Admiral's recounting of her future, that she wanted explanations for his actions.

"I don't know ... maybe I would be; it would be a waste of a life in any circumstances and maybe - oh, who knows. Maybe I felt guilty that I'd been lying to her. I don't see a way that I would be in love with her; and god knows, I hate living a lie. And that's all I can see here, now, is lies - unless I can stop this before it goes further. I've already lived a lie of omission for almost seven years, and that's been hard enough to-"

Chakotay broke off as Kathryn's eyes widened in shock, and then realised what he had said. He groaned and slumped backwards in the chair, staring at the ceiling as he let his head rest on the back.

“Kathryn, I’m not going to go into this conversation now. You know how I felt – how I still feel – about you, regardless of my idiocy and the problems I’ve got at the moment. Let’s just let it go. For now.” He leant forward again and closed his eyes. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Kathryn let his comments go, and concentrated on the plea.

“Chakotay, sometimes you can’t avoid hurting someone. Better to do that now than to let this go further. The longer it lasts, the more she’ll be hurt – and you. You weren’t always this sensitive – how did you cope in the Maquis?”

“That was different. It was personal in a different way, the actions weren’t personal. I can kill someone I don’t know, but hurting someone I do? That’s so much more difficult. It took me a long time to end the relationship with Seska.” The last sentence was a murmur, and he thought perhaps Kathryn hadn’t even heard him.

“One thing you do need to do,” said Kathryn, “is work out for yourself what you want, what you are. Maybe that’ll give you a framework for planning what you do want.” She laughed, deprecatingly. “It’s taken me far too long to work it out, but this past week I’ve finally had the time to sit down and stop thinking like the Captain. I realised I had no idea how to think any other way; I could barely remember a time when my every waking moment wasn’t, on some level, taken up with being captain. And yes, I know that perhaps wasn’t necessary, but it’s the way I am.”

Chakotay shifted a little, physically tired now from the emotional conversation. “I don’t know anymore. I used to know, but looking back I’m not sure I really did know myself.”

“You probably didn’t – god knows, I didn’t. I’ve spent my life defining myself by the external; judging my actions and plans by the reaction of others, directly or indirectly. Somewhere in the middle of those interminable debriefing sessions I suddenly realised that I didn’t care any more – I spent seven years wondering what StarFleet would think of my each and every action, wondering what the crew would think, and never stopping to think what I thought of my actions. I found myself in a bookshop, wondering what to read – wondering what was appropriate for me to read. That’s when I decided enough was enough, and ‘appropriate’ be damned, I’d read what I want to – and do what I want to – regardless of anyone else. The only problem was that I don’t know what I do like to read. Still, I need to find out. I’m not going to ride roughshod over someone else,” Kathryn checked herself, but Chakotay shook his head. He wasn’t quite that sensitive about his problems, for all the outpouring Kathryn had listened to.

“Well, anyway – I think perhaps you need the same thing. To be yourself, not just the Maquis, or the First Officer, or whatever other title or position you’ve lived under. We’ve both been figureheads for too long, suppressing ourselves in the process.” Chakotay raised an eyebrow and Kathryn laughed. “I know, I sound like the counsellors – but sometimes, although I’ll deny this if you repeat it, sometimes they’re right.” It was Chakotay’s turn to laugh at Kathryn’s apparent embarrassment in agreeing with the bane of an officer’s life, the counsellors. They were wonderful – until you became the subject of their scrutiny.

“As I said – you can’t be this sensitive about her feelings. I can’t tell you what to do about it, you’re going to have to make that decision, but I can tell you that Seven has always reacted best to the straight-forward. One way or the other, you need to decide soon or you will both be hurt even more. You need to decide what you want from your life; it’s an odd sensation, to have the freedom to decide.”

Chakotay wondered at her tone; relaxing the inhibitions of command had given Kathryn a philosophical quality that had rarely surfaced on Voyager. It was odd, but refreshing – it completed her in a way; gave another dimension, another layer to the texture of her personality. How many more layers had he yet to find? Quite a few, he suspected.

She was speaking again. “Have you talked to your spirit guide about this?”

Chakotay shook his head. “No – I haven’t had enough time to myself to do that.” Kathryn looked at him oddly, and he explained. “Seven has been a little … well, she’s been anxious not to be alone. Between that and the debriefs, I haven’t had much time to myself. But I will … it’s a good idea. Would you mind if …?”

“No, I don’t mind – go on. Please, though,” Kathryn hesitated, then asked, “please let me know what you decide. I … I need to know.” She gave no more explanation, and Chakotay didn’t push for one. “And don’t leave it so long between visits.” Her smile was crooked, and Chakotay ached to comfort her.

“I won’t leave it so long, I promise – and I’ll let you know,” he said, as he stood. He looked at her for a moment, then gave in to the ache and leaned down to kiss Kathryn on the cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, with the scent of rain and something more indefinably Kathryn. “I’ll let myself out, you look comfortable there.”

Kathryn smiled, an image that he carried with him as he left the house and started to walk back to quarters.

The hills of San Francisco barely registered as he wandered; the occasional view of the bay breaking through over the crest of a hill, between houses, was a distraction that he didn’t allow as he sorted through the conversation. An odd conversation, with undercurrents that he fought to interpret. Kathryn had seemed uncomfortable, but perhaps that wasn’t surprising – discussing his relationship with Seven was never going to be easy for either of them.

If he could have picked someone else to talk to, he would have done. But to speak to a counsellor was impossible – it needed someone who knew them both and, really, that was only Kathryn. B’Elanna was too busy with Miral, and her attitude towards Seven was such that he was sure he wouldn’t get a balanced view. Was she even aware that he and Seven were ….? Perhaps not, since she hadn’t mentioned anything about it to him. How many people did know?

In the end, it didn’t matter whether people knew – only that there would be more or less people to ask what had happened, why they weren’t together anymore.

Chakotay brought his thoughts to a rapid halt. When had he made the decision? He’d been on the edge of it all day, he knew that much.

Somewhere in the conversation with Kathryn, his sub-conscious had clearly made the decision for him.

He found himself now on Lombard Street, following the meandering path downwards to the bay; the circuitous street hadn’t changed in centuries, and he had to watch his step. The concentration on the physical focussed his mind, making the decision less of a surprise, less of a shock. He was already getting used to the idea, formulating the how and when, dealing with getting past it and on to the future. But still, a vision quest could be useful.

The Embarcadero spread wide before him, the bay beyond it lapping lazily at the wharves. StarFleet quarters had a view he would never tire of, even if the decoration inside redefined bland. A couple of recitations of authorisation codes and he was home. Well, what passed for home.

The conversation with Kathryn was still echoing in his mind as he looked at the quarters; a safe beige and grey. Nothing to jar the senses, but nothing to please them either.

Blue and green pinstripes. An odd thing to come to mind, but … well, if that’s what he liked. What did he like?

Chakotay forced that chain of thought away, filing it for later consideration and exploration. Now, instead, he would handle things one at a time and clear the way so that he could think about it later. His medicine bag was tucked, as always, into a corner of a drawer. He spread it out, and began the chant to draw him into the psychotropic akoonah.

Chakotay felt himself drift into the vision quest; the scene was familiar, the damp scent of a forest centering him in the location. Dark, silent, the place never failed to calm him. He momentarily recalled Kathryn’s garden, a place of similar calm though so very different in actuality.

In the distance he saw a flash of silver-grey weaving between the trees; his guide had chosen to approach from a distance this time. Chakotay had never quite worked out the distinction; sometimes she was there, waiting for him, other times he waited for her approach. Sometimes she never appeared, and he was grateful that this wasn’t one of those times.

“Sister, I greet you.” The formula, the ritual, was comfort to him. The familiar, his own. The wolf entered the clearing, gold eyes startling in the half-light of the primordial day.

“You are greeted,” came the soft reply into his mind. “And you are troubled – although you know the route, the way through. Why do you seek my counsel?”

Chakotay stared; his guide was rarely this direct, preferring to let him talk his way through whatever had prompted his quest.

“Sister, I …” He stopped. There was little point in prevaricating with his guide; all he would achieve would be a lie to himself. The quest was internal, the guide a creation of his sub-conscious. To lie to it would be to lie to himself, and that would achieve nothing.

“You are right,” he laughed, although the sound was forced, “as always. I know what I need to do, what I lack is the courage to do it.”

Another brush against his mind as the answer flickered across his mind. “Better to do it now. Take the courage from those around you, face the fear and use it.”

The scene dissolved, and Chakotay found himself back in the anonymity of his quarters. ‘Take courage from those around you’ he mused, and his thoughts returned to Kathryn; Kathryn, who was steadily trying to regain a sense of herself in the unexpected freedom of the Alpha Quadrant, who had asked for nothing more than his company.

Courage. This time he thought of Seven, struggling to deal with an alien familiarity of being human. He was about to add to the sum of her humanity; experience, good and bad, gave form and character. He still winced at the idea of causing her any hurt but the pressure to give in to her lead was no longer overwhelming.

The vision quest was a contradiction that he rarely tried to puzzle out – by going deeper into himself he gained an overview of himself; the internal became a vantage point from which he could observe himself and his interactions with others. It lent a focus and clarity that was occasionally painful, often refreshing.

Now – well, now he knew what he needed to do. He forced himself upwards, his legs protesting after the stillness of the quest and his subsequent reflections, and crossed to the comms terminal. A couple of moments later, the connection was open.

“Seven, we need to talk.” Chakotay winced inwardly at the abruptness of his voice; if Seven noticed anything amiss, she didn’t mention it. “Are you free later?”

She nodded. “I’m free now - shall I come there?”

“Yes, please do.” They signed off. Chakotay sat back and exhaled, trying to quash the nerves that spread through him. Better that it were done quickly, if it were to be done at all.

A chime moments later startled him; had she been in the building already? He spun round from the terminal, the nerves multiplying as he allowed the door to open.

“Hello.” Seven stepped into the room, a smile on her face. “It’s good to see you again – I thought you would be busy for longer.”

Chakotay smiled. “The plans have changed. Can we go for a walk?” Seven nodded, letting him lead them out of the building. They began to walk down the Embarcadero towards the Bay Bridge, letting the ebb and flow of afternoon walkers and skaters move around them. Seven tried to take his hand, but he tucked his behind his back.

“You said you wanted to speak to me,” announced Seven shortly after they left quarters. Chakotay took a deep breath. Now or never. Fish or cut bait. How many more clichés could he find to put this off? Kathryn’s image flashed across his mind, her quiet determination to live her life now on her own terms. Courage. Strength.

“I do. We need to talk. Seven, I’m sorry but,” a pause, then he continued “this isn’t working, our relationship. There are too many differences, and I don’t think it’s fair to either of us to try to continue it.”

Seven was silent, staring straight ahead as she walked next to him. Chakotay looked across at her, wondering what was going through her mind. Heaven help anyone who played poker with her, he thought. Her face gave nothing away.

Had he been too blunt? Chakotay stopped the second-guessing before it had even started and waited for her reponse.

“I appreciate your telling me, Chakotay.” Seven broke the silence, stopping and turning to face him. “I am … sorry … that this has not been a suitable relationship for you. May I ask why you do not think it is functioning?”

The stilted grammar tore at Chakotay; in that moment he understood exactly why he’d had so much difficulty ending the relationship, understood the depth of emotion there. An emotion that the element of surprise in her approach to him had disguised. He felt as though he was talking to a child, his child. How strange, to know he was the instigator of her pain and yet also to want to comfort her and tell her that not all men were so indifferent to her. That she was loved, and would someday find someone to appreciate her properly.

He let a moment pass, searching for the right words, trying to comfort without igniting hope. “Seven, we’re too different. I have a lifetime of experience that I’m still trying to process. I have a context to my life that you are still developing. Relationships are most meaningful when the participants grow together; you have a life to grow into, so much still to discover.

I’m not saying I won’t grow, or discover, but it’ll be in a context that you won’t reach for decades. I’ll hold you back, and that’s the last thing you need. I would love to see you explore your life, but I can’t be part of that exploration. I left that exploration behind too long ago to recapture it.”

Life continues; people wandered past, skated past. A street-trolley trundled along the street behind him. The fading heat of the day lingered in the scent of lilies from the nearby florist stall.

Seven stood still, and Chakotay again wondered what she was thinking. He’d said all he could for now.

“I believe I understand,” she said at last. “Your feelings for me are … paternal, as the Captain’s are maternal. Would that be an accurate reflection?” The question was quietly uttered.

“Yes. Yes, it would. I am sorry it’s taken me this time to realise.”

“Perhaps you needed this time to realise it, Commander.” Chakotay nodded, the pain that lay behind her use of his title cutting him. Seven turned to leave.

“Seven,” he stopped her. “Talk to someone about it. Please – and please know that I will always be available to talk to you if you need me to. If you come to feel comfortable enough to talk to me.”

She nodded, acknowledging his words, and Chakotay let her go. He watched her stride back to quarters, and saw the heads that turned. Male and female, and not all staring at the Borg implants by any means. She was stunning, and he would be fascinated to watch her grow up; perhaps even to help her through that growing up from time to time but … and there lay the crux of the matter, not to live that growing up with her.

Seven disappeared into the crowd and he lost sight of her. His mind returned to Kathryn again, and he thought perhaps he should let her know now. He’d promised to tell her, and he suspected that Seven would go and talk to her. He made his way to a public comms terminal not all that far away, and placed the call.

“Kathryn? It’s done,” he said, simply. Kathryn looked steadily back at him.

“How did she take it?”

“I’m not sure. Not well, but I can’t tell to what degree she’s not taken it well.” Kathryn interrupted.

“I’ve got another call coming in, it’s probably Seven. Can I talk to you later?”

“Yes, of course. Anytime. Please.”

The connection terminated, and Chakotay felt oddly bereft. The evening died into night as he walked slowly to Fort Point, letting the day’s events assemble themselves into some coherence in his recollection of his life.

Seven, a daughter. He hadn’t ever looked at it that way before, but it made more sense than superficially appeared to be the case. She was Kathryn’s personal reclamation project, more like her daughter than anything else. His relationship with Kathryn – while difficult at times – undoubtedly influenced his relationship with others.

Was it so difficult to imagine Seven as his daughter? Well, physically he doubted his gene pool would allow for a blonde blue-eyed child but that was evading the issue. She challenged his authority as any child would, and that perhaps was at the heart of it. That, and her development as a person. They had all watched her grow up on the ship, moving from the emotional shell that had been suppressed by armour and implants. How different was that from watching Naomi grow up?

The only difference, really, was the physical. That was enough of a difference, though, to have confused his reaction when she asked him for a date. Hindsight, with the clarity that one would want in actuality and not only in retrospect, cast another light on it. Flattery, and his interest in her combined. If he had stopped to acknowledge that interest before, he would have seen it for what it was – the curiosity and fascination of watching someone’s childhood which, from his vantage point now, made him feel vaguely as though he’d taken advantage of her. His antagonism towards the Borg, though, had blocked that acknowledgement. One more thing to blame on Riley Frasier, he thought wryly.

The Golden Gate rose in the distance, traced in outline by thousands of lights; a sight he would now always associate with Voyager’s homecoming.

Night fell, darkness blanketing a thousand different emotions and thoughts.

A fresh day brought with it another round of meetings with those charged with debriefing the Voyager crew. StarFleet, with an astonishing tact, had quickly made it clear that no charges would be pressed against any of the crew. Instead, the debriefing served two purposes – to allow StarFleet to examine what had happened out there and to allow the crew to understand what had happened in the intervening time in the Federation. The monthly mailshots from home hadn’t begun to cover all the events, the changes and developments in both military and civilian life.

Chakotay left a dull session with some relief; it had taken his mind off the conflicting emotions still echoing through him, but it had been tedious to go over, once again, the discovery of Species 8472’s re-creation of StarFleet. That made it … three times, now? They were paranoid about it, and he suspected that the individuals in charge wanted to be certain - beyond any reassurance that he could give – that the recreation had come from Voyager’s databases, not from any reconnaissance of San Francisco itself.

That wasn’t his problem now, and he was determined that it wouldn’t be – he needed to move away from that mindset, that responsibility. He couldn’t be responsible for StarFleet – it had been wearing enough to be responsible for Voyager, even as First Officer rather than Captain. Kathryn was right, he acknowledged again, it was time to let others lead for a while.

An ensign chased down the corridor and slid to a halt in front of him. “A message for you, sir. Captain Janeway would like to talk to you, at your convenience.” Chakotay nodded his thanks.

“Chakotay to Janeway.”

“Janeway here.” The response came promptly. “Thank you, Chakotay, I take it you got my message?” A personal call, he thought, as she used his name and not his title.

“Yes, I did, Kathryn.”

“Are you free for lunch?”

“Of course, where would you like to meet?”

“Could you come to my house, in about an hour or so? I can’t really be away from there for long.” Chakotay wondered what she was talking about.

“Oh?”

“I’ll show you when you get there.” There was obviously laughter in her voice, and Chakotay decided to let it go – it was good to hear her sound amused. He’d find out soon enough, anyway. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she hadn’t spoken with Seven yet after all, she sounded too cheerful. Or perhaps that was his ego reacting.

 

 

An hour later found him once again on her doorstep, ringing the bell. The sound peeled, and he grinned with amusement as he remembered he was still wearing uniform and his communicator – he could equally easily have spoken directly to her. The door was opening, though, and in the distance he could hear barking.

“Come in, before she gets out,” said Kathryn a little breathlessly. She was wearing a white shirt and jeans; Chakotay realised he couldn’t remember what she’d worn the day before – she’d been an outlet for him, rather than anything more. He needed to correct that today; he hadn’t even asked her what her plans were … he shook his head at his selfishness as he followed Kathryn inside.

At the end of the corridor he spotted a bundle of energy wriggling in the doorway, restrained by a gate that held – her, him, it? – in the kitchen. Kathryn had acquired a puppy. He grinned broadly, watching Kathryn hurry back to the animal.

“Come and meet Molly, Chakotay.”

“Molly?” he asked, “wasn’t that …”

“Yes it was, and yes this little horror is a relation – her grand-daughter. I couldn’t resist and, anyway, I wanted a dog again.”

Chakotay just smiled at her, absurdly pleased to see her enjoying herself. He offered a fist to the puppy, letting her lick it and accustom herself to him – although the adorable creature seemed inclined to like him even without the introduction. Red setters were not the most efficient guard dogs, but they did make wonderful company.

Kathryn opened the gate, and he grabbed Molly up as she made her escape slipping through Kathryn’s hands.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he murmured to the puppy as he held her. “You’re not old enough to go exploring on your own. Have some patience, wait until you’re a little older then you can explore all you want.”

He looked up and saw an odd expression on Kathryn’s face. He suddenly realised that she had spoken with Seven, and her words confirmed it.

“Sometimes you just need to know when to let go,” she said quietly. “I’d say you judged that pretty well.”

Chakotay released a breath and felt tension he’d barely been aware of ebb away. “Thank you.”

“We talked yesterday – it was her calling me, when you were on. She came over and we talked for several hours. I think she understands now." Silence fell again, the puppy wriggling a little in Chakotay’s arms now. Suddenly she licked his face, and both Kathryn and Chakotay laughed, the moment easing past. “I also understand,” she added, sobering a little, “much more than I did yesterday. Let’s go outside, I have lunch set up.”

Chakotay blinked at the abrupt change of topic, then put Molly down and followed Kathryn outside. He closed the door, ensuring lunch would be free of interruptions. Salads, sourdough bread, some wine – Kathryn had found the perfect lunch for another day that, like yesterday, had burnt into a burnished late summer that lifted the spirit.

Kathryn ate slowly, as did he, and they looked occasionally at each other. The atmosphere was comfortable, for all the suspense of the conversation they knew they would have. Chakotay dropped a small conversational pebble into the quiet.

“I didn’t ask you what your plans were; I was rather selfish yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be – sometimes we need to be selfish. My plans … well, they’re a little fluid right now. I do plan to be here, in San Francisco, for some time. I want to watch Molly grow up, and I need to recover from Voyager before I think about taking another command. There are some in StarFleet who want me back out there as soon as possible, but I don’t feel inclined to oblige them.

I’m just … reading, at the moment. Watching old films, just trying to slow down. I found I missed Tom’s film nights, even if I wasn’t all that keen on his choices, so I’ve been digging around looking for some that I do like to watch.

Maybe I’ll teach at the Academy; I’m not sure how good I would be, is the only problem. I rather take for granted what I do and don’t know, I’m not all that sure that I can explain to those who don’t intuitively grasp a concept.”

Kathryn played with the bread, crumbling it absent-mindedly into her salad as she spoke. Chakotay watched her with a quiet delight, pleased she was taking the time to relax and work out what she wanted to do. The contentment on her face was a joy to see.

“Have you thought about research?” he asked. “You always did joke that you were a four-pip science officer. Perhaps you could follow up some of the phenomena we encountered.” The idea had come as he spoke, idly wondering whether she had discarded the possibility.

She hadn’t. Instead, she seemed surprised. “Would you believe I hadn’t thought of that? I think I’m too immersed in StarFleet – you’re right, though. I could, couldn’t I?”

“You can do anything you want to,” he replied, a smile colouring his words as he watched her muse through the possibilities. She seemed much more taken with the idea of research than with that of teaching. She was probably right in her assessment of her teaching skills; he could imagine her tutoring in something practical but not the theory so beloved of StarFleet.

“So I can,” she laughed. “And I will. I just need to decide what.” Her eyes shone with what he could only describe as glee at the possibilities. She took his hand. “Thank you, I needed that.” Chakotay looked quizzical. “I needed someone to remind me that I can do other things, not just be a captain. Thank you,” she repeated.

“Anytime.” Chakotay wondered whether he dared. Then dared anyway; he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. He glanced up, and warmed at the soft look on her face. He let their hands drop, still holding hers within his. She had such small hands; firm and capable but small, precious.

Kathryn smiled at him. Silence fell again, letting the background rise with a quiet music of its own. The scent of flowers was stronger today, perhaps, or maybe he was just better able to appreciate it.

“You see Seven as a daughter, don’t you?” asked Kathryn, suddenly. Their conversations with Seven yesterday hovered unspoken between them.

“Yes … yes, I think I do. I don’t think I realised it until yesterday evening though.” Kathryn waited for him to continue. “When … when I told her it was over between us, I suddenly found myself wanting to comfort her, to take some of the pain away from her. But not in the relationship we had; I felt as though someone had hurt my child – and me, through her – and yet I was aware that I was that someone. It was an odd sensation.”

Kathryn nodded. “I wondered whether it was something like that. When you were here yesterday, talking, some of that came through. I just wasn’t sure whether I was projecting my own wishes onto what I was hearing though.” She stopped abruptly, leaving Chakotay with the impression that she’d said more than she intended. She had certainly said enough to give him something to think about.

“Is she alright?” He left Kathryn’s words to mull over later; there was time enough for that. She nodded.

“Yes. She’s hurt, a little, but I think it’s more pride than anything else. Did you ever know about ...” Kathryn paused, and Chakotay could see her choosing her words carefully. “Did you know about the hologram?”

Chakotay shook his head, puzzled. She couldn’t mean the Doctor, she’d just say so, surely.

“Seven created a holodeck program, on Voyager. She wanted … she wanted to learn more about how to act in certain situations. One of those situations was a romantic relationship; she chose a hologram of you as her partner.”

Chakotay swallowed, startled. “Damn,” he whispered.

“Quite,” said Kathryn, a little ruefully. “Perhaps I should have told you before, but I wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate – or whether you knew already. I think she anticipated that you would act in the same way as the hologram; she’s slowly learning that not all holograms are the same as the Doctor though. The difference between knowledge and understanding, I think you described it as yesterday?”

Chakotay nodded.

“She knows things but doesn’t have the experience to integrate that knowledge properly,” agreed Kathryn. “You were right, and I think you explained it well to her – she does need someone she can grow with. I sent her to talk to the Doctor.”

Chakotay laughed, taken by surprise. “That’s devious, Kathryn.” She just grinned.

“Well, who better? He has the same, albeit less obvious, need – all the knowledge of the Delta Quadrant and more medical information than anyone else could possibly contain, but he still needs to learn to integrate that knowledge to understanding. He’s a little further ahead, but I think they could learn a lot from each other.”

“Did you say all this to Seven?” asked Chakotay, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No, of course not,” laughed Kathryn, “I just reminded her that he was a good friend, and that it was important to talk to friends.”

“It is, isn’t it?” murmured Chakotay in reply. Kathryn looked across at him, and he held her gaze for a little longer than common courtesy required. Then she nodded, and smiled a little crookedly.

“Very important.” Two words that encompassed a lifetime of meaning, a give and take, acceptance of the past and a promise for the future.

 

 

Time passed in the same measured manner as always: sometimes faster, sometimes slower. Chakotay measured out his days in meetings with StarFleet and lunch with Kathryn; they met two or three times a week now, rebuilding a companionship and a closeness that defied anything that had gone before. 

The meetings with StarFleet eventually wound down, although with the proviso that they might be called upon in future if something else came up. Chakotay was pretty sure it would come up but, for now, he was free. He’d been exploring San Francisco with fresh eyes, looking for places to eat and places to just be; he’d gone sailing and discovered a love for it that he hadn’t anticipated, having grown up on a desert planet. Perhaps that was why, though – the shock of the new, the different. He’d eased his way into working at Berkeley, coming home exhausted from the effort of meeting new people. Not naturally gregarious, it took him time to settle into habits and conversations – he could do it well enough, years of training made sure of that, but it was still tiring.

Lunches with Kathryn continued; she was beginning to explore research possibilities now, bringing herself into the ambit of work again. They argued over StarFleet politics, agreed on the environmental issues facing Mu Ceti IX, laughed at Molly’s antics as she tripped over her not-yet-grown-into paws and enjoyed the silence that sat comfortably between them.

In the midst of all that, somewhere between the planes that divide one moment from another, Kathryn fell in love with Chakotay all over again. And he with her. Yet the silence continued, the friendship too important to gamble on the risk.

 

 

A Sunday morning, quiet and still, with the dawn edging over the Oakland hills; Chakotay knocked at Kathryn’s door. He smiled at the barking that follows; two sharp yelps announcing his presence in case Kathryn hadn’t heard the bell. Or so he assumed went the logic in Molly’s mind – what passed for her mind, red setters were never renowned for intelligence. Molly was a classic example of her breed in every way.

“Molly, hush.” The same words, every Sunday. A mantra that relaxed him, a ritual that drew him in. Kathryn opened the door as she spoke, smiling at him. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. She nodded. This had become their mutual time; lunch was a time he treasured but over too quickly. Sunday mornings had become their time, time out of the everyday bustle of life and the demanding curiosity of StarFleet – still asking questions, even after the debriefing had formally ended. 

It was early in the pink chill dawn of a clear January Sunday, and no-one else stirred yet. Chakotay could just smell Kathryn’s favourite vice, coffee, as he bent to kiss her hello. Touches that had evolved over time, a kiss on the cheek, a hug goodbye. Touches to be treasured.

“Where are we going today?” Chakotay laughed; he’d been expecting the question to be the first words she spoke and he was a little surprised she’d held in her curiosity that long. They took turns to decide where they would go on a Sunday. Today was his choice, and he had something to show her. He wondered what her reaction would be.

“You’ll see.” Another surprise, usually he would explain as they went. He took her hand – another treasured touch – and led her towards the BART transport station at the intersection ahead. Moments later they stepped out into a small village; a silence beyond anything San Francisco could achieve settled over them as the whine of transport died away on the still air.

It was chilly here, tucked away behind a hill that the sun had yet to climb over. Kathryn looked at Chakotay. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “when did you find it?”

“A week or so back,” said Chakotay, tugging gently on Kathryn’s hand to lead her down the hill. Molly danced at their side, pulling impatiently on the lead that Kathryn held. The California winter was evident in the skeletal grasses that swayed as they passed, leaving the road for a track. In the distance, the rush of the ocean became clearer as they rounded a bend on the track; the sound intensified as the ocean itself came into view. 

They stopped as the track flattened out; Kathryn leant into Chakotay’s side. He felt her breathing merge with the rise and fall of the waves, matching his own. A salt tang filled the air, crisp in his lungs; a moment out of time, caught in a love that had captured him long ago and reaffirmed itself now from day to day in a bubbling ecstasy that filled him.

The breeze picked up Kathryn’s hair; fingers of air brushing through into tangles. The same breeze ruffled Chakotay’s shorter hair. It felt good, the early morning chill lending a bite to the touch. 

Kathryn slipped Molly off the lead and they followed her down; from a pocket, Chakotay pulled a well-chewed rubber ball and threw it along the beach for Molly to chase. She ran through the waves, splashing after the ball. Seagulls rose, squawking their protest at being disturbed, as she scattered water in all directions.

“This is beautiful,” Kathryn said, turning to Chakotay. “How did you find it? It’s hard to believe that a beach this quiet is so close to San Francisco.”

“I bought a house here.” Chakotay grinned as he watched surprise flicker across her face. 

“You didn’t tell me!”

“Well, the purchase was only completed yesterday. I’ve barely moved in – there’s only very basic furniture in there. And … well, it was part of trying to learn to please myself, not just others. I wanted to go through it on my own, not to let anyone else influence me. If I’d discussed it with you – and believe me, I wanted to – I don’t think I would ever have been quite sure whether it was what I really wanted.” 

Kathryn smiled, “I understand – and I think it’s wonderful. Which house is it, can we see from here?”

“It’s that house over there,” he said, gesturing to a house half-hidden in the trees. Molly picked that moment to come bounding across to them, shaking herself and drenching them in a very cold shower of the Pacific Ocean. “Hey!” Chakotay protested, “that’s not very civilised, Molly.” The dog flopped at his feet, tongue lolling out, and he would swear she was grinning at them.

“Well, do you want to come and look at it? And dry off at the same time,” he added, looking at the dog with a mock glare.

Kathryn smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.”

They made their way back to the track, the sand slowing their progress as Molly leapt forwards and then circled back as though shepherding them onwards. 

Once back on the track, Chakotay looked upwards at his house; tucked away in the woods, on the cliff above the beach, it represented little more than a miracle to him. A place that was his, and his alone. Not his family house, nor yet one of the endless procession of quarters – StarFleet and Maquis – that had been his only personal space for decades.

The track wound upwards then branched back round towards the headland, past the drives of a few other houses. The dust of summer still lingered on, never quite leaving the coastal tracks, coating their boots. Molly shook herself again, drops of water arcing in the sunlight that now slipped over the hillside; the winter sun shed a cold clear light that echoed like a dream within the trees and the white gold grasses.

Chakotay felt Kathryn’s hand slip into his again as they neared the house. Glimpses through the trees gave little indication of the sheer beauty of the place; he though perhaps it would never cease to thrill. He hoped it wouldn’t.

Glass, arching in impossible curves and cantilevers, defined the building; the canopy of the trees and the view over the bay gave privacy so that the interplay of light and shadow need never be interrupted by a covering. Even now, in the California winter, there would be no need to screen out the night.

Chakotay lead Kathryn to the door, a solid oak piece. An old-fashioned key, slipped from his pocket, opened the lock; he smiled at Kathryn’s surprise when she saw him using the metal piece. Molly remained outside, and they left the door open for her to follow them in as she chose.

Inside, the house welcomed them; it had been empty for too long, and dust motes danced in the shafts of light that flooded the stairwell in the hallway. Kathryn let go of Chakotay’s hand and stepped forwards; then she looked back to him.

“Show me,” she asked, her voice a reverential hush. “Show me.”

They moved silently through the house; he’d begun to collect furniture even before he’d decided on a house, and the pieces had been delivered yesterday afternoon. He had spent half the night arranging them, making plans for more – to build and buy. Kathryn touched the pieces with wonder; most were antiques, several hundred years old. Seven years backpay, even from StarFleet, provided the means for an exquisite collection. 

Chakotay preferred the solidity of American Arts and Crafts – pieces in mesquite, in oak, with touches of the Mission. He had begun to study the period, acquiring information as he acquired the pieces, instinctively understanding the craftsmanship.

Then they reached the back of the house, overlooking the bay. Kathryn seemed lost for words, standing in front of the window as she had so often stood on Voyager, just looking. 

The ocean rolled before her, an eternal advance and retreat moving closer to the heart of the sun. Birds wheeled on the rocks on the far side of the bay, and dappled shadows carpeted the closer view as the trees around them reached for daylight. 

Chakotay stood behind her; he would never tire of this. It was almost all he had thought of since he saw the house – this room, this view, the golden light that filtered and flickered through the evergreen around. He gave into impulse and gathered Kathryn in a hug, resting his chin on her head.

“Oh Chakotay,” she sighed. “How can you ever leave this?”

“It’s not easy.” The view and the woman. Golden in the face of the sun, he felt them both move closer together. Warmth, an emotional warmth that dispelled the slight chill of morning, spread through him. Kathryn shivered, and he wondered whether she felt it too.

Then wondered no more.

“I love you.”

The words stole into his mind, almost as though his spirit guide was speaking, but he felt Kathryn’s words through his arms as he held her. Felt the inhalation before she spoke; felt each and every moment with an intensity that was almost painful. 

She turned in his arms, looking up at him. He dropped his head, touching her forehead with his. “I love you. You have … no idea-“

Kathryn put her fingers over his lips. “I think perhaps I have some inkling,” she smiled. He kissed her fingers, touching them softly, tasting the salt air on them. Another shudder, then Kathryn raised her mouth to his as her hand slid around his neck to hold him close. As though he could pull away; she really had no idea, he thought.

Then they were kissing and, when he regained his breath, Chakotay thought that, yes, perhaps she did have some idea after all. A gentle breath of a kiss intensified into a heat that echoed through them both. A physical prayer for the perfection between them; a dream of reality that awoke and became reality itself.

Another kiss, another touch of mouths; an answering pressure from her and he opened his mouth to let his tongue taste her. Soft lips, tracing in the heat, then she sighed – a susurration of emotion with an edge of lust – and he found the dark warmth of her mouth. Advance and retreat, moving closer to the heart of the sun, an embrace that slowly learnt and taught as Kathryn explored his mouth and he explored hers.

They drew apart just enough to catch breath, and Kathryn chuckled. Chakotay waited, knowing she’d explain. She did. “Too much, and not enough. It’s too much, but I want more. I … I want you.”

Words that had hung between them for seven years, now expressed in the validation of emotion. Words with more meaning that they could ever have had before, tested and tempered by the past and their mistakes. Stronger, forged in the solidity of a relationship that had survived that past and those mistakes.

“You’ve got me. You always had me.”

Kathryn smiled and hugged him closer again; another kiss, intense, dark and sweet. An unfurling heat that he had once thought never to feel again; an answering pressure. 

He raised his head, and looked around the room almost blindly. 

“Here.”

Chakotay looked down; here, on the floor? Kathryn nodded at the unasked question. “Here, in the light. I want to make love in the light.” They sank down, Chakotay rolling below her to take the discomfort of bare floorboards. Kathryn straddled him, and even through the layers of clothes he felt her heat against his erection, heavy with anticipation and the promise of their kisses.

Another kiss; Kathryn leant forwards and the sunlight now became dappled by her hair falling gently around his face. He wove his fingers through her hair, rubbing his thumb against her jaw. So tough … so soft. The strongest woman he knew, and so soft to the touch; a face that asked for and received no quarter in the hardest of choices, and eyes that could melt in moments.

He felt her hands at his hips, pulling on his sweater. Reluctantly breaking the kiss he let Kathryn sit up, and raised himself a little to allow her to remove it. She flung it impatiently away, returning to unbutton the shirt beneath it. Chakotay watched her with an affectionate amusement, loving the look of steady concentration on her face as she worked them open. Kathryn looked up suddenly and grinned in the face of his amusement.

“You’re not helping …”

“How would you like me to help?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Use your imagination,” came the retort, a wealth of laughter layering the tones.

So he did. Chakotay slowly peeled open the coat she wore, agonising inch by agonising inch – unsure which of them he was teasing. Kathryn finally got the last button open, flicking the shirt open and then stopping, holding still over him as she gazed at him.

“Oh god, you are so beautiful,” she murmured. “Golden, like the sun …” Her voice was a whisper that Chakotay felt, rather than heard. He shivered in reaction, heat rippling through him, and heard Kathryn inhale sharply as he pushed up against her involuntarily.

Moments later, Kathryn’s coat and sweater followed Chakotay’s clothes, abandoned on the floor in a flurry of movement. Now he stilled, looking only at her as though committing her to memory forever. Beautiful – not a good enough word.

“Exquisite”

Not even that was enough; he raised a hand that shook slightly, to touch her collarbone. Tracing the line, to the hollow at the base of her throat; Kathryn jumped at his touch there. Then downwards, between her breasts, the skin warm from the enveloping clothes. A flick, a snap loud in the silence, and then he pushed aside the scrap of lace that Kathryn wore. “Oh god,” a shuddering prayer from one or both of them. Chakotay cupped her right breast slowly, his thumb teasing the nipple to a tautness that had to almost hurt. So soft; so unbelievably soft. An ethereal lightness to both touch and sight, her skin almost translucent.

Kathryn let her head drop back, helplessly shifting against him as Chakotay took the taut nipple into his mouth. He shifted his hand to pay the same attention to the other side, meanwhile nipping and suckling her; alternating the touch of his teeth, lips and tongue, cataloguing in the recesses of his mind the reaction to each. A little more pressure, catching her between his lips and a lap of the tongue – that was it; she almost choked over his name, crying out at the sensation.

Chakotay lifted his head, swallowing her protests with a kiss that pushed them both closer to the edge that hovered close by. Patience was an over-rated virtue, and Chakotay slipped a hand under her waistband. He clenched convulsively as he felt Kathryn follow suit, a chill air doing nothing to slow him down as she unzipped his trousers. He raised his hips, an invitation she took as she pushed both his trousers and his boxer shorts down and sat back on his thighs. A moments’ pause, then he closed his eyes as she wrapped her hand around him; her fingers closed around his erection, thrumming softly with his pulse. A chaotic pulse now, as Kathryn smoothed her thumb over the tip and rubbed the groove; she rubbed once, then twice, then trailed her thumb over to the opening and pressed lightly there. Oh god. Oh goddddd. Chakotay felt himself falling, and wrenched back with an effort.

“No” A harsh, guttural protest pulled from his lips as he recaptured Kathryn’s distraction by slipping a finger into the wet heat between her legs. Her waistband was cutting into his wrist; he’d hurt later but now he had to touch her, an imperative he couldn’t ignore.

Kathryn clenched her hand around him, almost knocking him over again, then relaxed as he stroked her; whether she understood that the waistband was getting in his way, or whether it was getting in her way, she undid it. Better, much better. A smoother angle; with his other hand Chakotay pushed down on the material. Kathryn stood for a moment, drawing away from his hand, and kicked off both trousers and underwear in a smooth movement.

The chill air pulled Chakotay back into the moment a little, enough to appreciate better the sensation as Kathryn straddled him again; an intense heat enveloped him, centered on the point where they touched. His hard heat to her soft heat. Moving closer to heart of the sun. 

He thrust experimentally against her, teasing her with his length. He slid, rubbing, along the damp heat and touched the bundle of nerves with a slow push that had Kathryn arching into the daylight above him. All shadows and light in the early morning sun, a study in ecstasy and beauty that had him fighting suddenly for breath and arching with her.

Slow and steady would have to wait for another time; and there would be another time. This time, Kathryn took the lead as he’d hoped she would. This was for her, her demons and his past to be exorcised in a conflagration that neither of them could doubt. With a hiccupping breath, she leant to kiss him again. Their mouths now echoed the heat between them, and Chakotay sucked her lower lip hard into his mouth as he felt her grasp him. One more quick brush of her thumb over the tip, and suddenly he was surrounded in a slick heat that left him gasping with an astonished arousal. Astonished at the fact that he had managed not to climax immediately.

They held still for a moment, Chakotay alternating between prayers of thanks and prayers for strength. Kathryn let her hand lie between them, tracing the circle where they joined, and the prayers for strength went unanswered as Chakotay sat up slightly to see her move her hand forwards a little to touch herself, rubbing the nub just above where they were joined. He groaned, pushing up into her.

“You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Kathryn asked, her voice lower than he’d ever heard it, thickened with the promise of completion. Chakotay nodded; he didn’t quite trust his voice now. He could feel her clenching around him, each gather and release in time to the movement of her fingers. He reached down and put his hand over hers.

A quiet moan, and the tangle of their fingers quickened Kathryn’s shuddering around him. A little more pressure, just a little more, and suddenly Chakotay couldn’t hold back. Too much now, all sensation and light as they both flew into the heart of the sun. 

“I love you.” 

Two voices, one thought.


End file.
